


Through A Window

by shepardly



Series: Murphy's Law [6]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Original Character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 14:19:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9552593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepardly/pseuds/shepardly
Summary: An RN kidnapped by a wannabe biker to treat a mysterious patient would just like to go home now, please.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to challenge myself a bit this time and wrote this one through the eyes of someone who is not personally familiar with the main characters, so there is an OC in here. He developed with the story, didn't even get a name until I was nearly finished, because I felt that trying to hammer a fully fleshed out character into the role could lead to out-of-characteristic moves. Anyway, I hope I didn't butcher it too badly, and I purposely left the location of the story vague so feel free to fill in that blank for yourself!

Ben Parson, Registered Nurse all of two months, headed for the locker room, relieved that his nightmarishly long shift in the General Hospital emergency room was finally over. Work had been nonstop ever since he had started two months earlier, and he had already learned to take whatever break he could get. He made a beeline for his locker; he had to hurry if he was going to make the next train.

He flung his locker door open, and sensed a presence loom behind him as the unmistakable sound of a gun hammer clicking reached his ears and something hard prodded his lower back.

“Don't make a sound, don't move a muscle, unless I tell you too.” The man behind him rumbled, keeping his voice down. “You understand?”

The gun prodded Ben’s back when he didn't respond fast enough, and he nodded his head frantically before freezing again.

“Good. You a nurse? Doctor?”

“Nurse. I'm new here.” Ben croaked, all too aware of the gun in his back. He had heard of the hospital being robbed before, drugs stolen and vending machines cleaned out, but he never expected to be on the business end of a revolver in the locker room.

“Ever deal with auto medical beds? Stab wounds? People who been in fights?”

“Y-yeah.” Ben couldn't stop his voice from shaking. He had seen his fair share of stabbings and gunshot wounds since moving to the big city. 

“That'll do.” The man muttered to himself. “I need you to treat someone. Come with me quietly, do your thing, and I'll send you on your way before the sun comes up again. Fair?”

“Fair?!” Ben spluttered. The gun prodded him again before he could make more noise. “Okay, okay, I'll do it, just… how do I know you'll let me go?”

“You don't.” The man was blunt. “Keep your eyes down, don't try to put faces and names together, and this'll all be over soon.”

Ben was forced to go through his usual routine, although hurried along. He changed into his street clothes, put his wallet in his pocket, but the man made sure his phone was left in the locker. They left through the front door, the man walking just behind him and to his left, gun in pocket and sharp eyes on Ben’s every move. As they passed by the reception desk, Ben desperately hoped someone would look up, take notice that something was wrong.

The lobby was swamped. Phones ringing off the hook, staff hurrying as they went about their duties and dealt with patients; it was chaos as usual. No one noticed two men walking out the front door. He considered stopping and yelling for help, but he didn't exactly feel like being shot or being the cause of someone else being shot. Ben was directed towards the automated parkade and felt his hope of being noticed dwindle away.

The man opened the passenger door of a newish hover car, designed to look like an antique Ford Mustang, and slung a small duffel bag previously unnoticed by Ben into the backseat.

“Get in, buckle up, and don't move.” The man ordered. Ben snuck a better look at the man before sliding in and dropping his eyes again.

The man seemed familiar, but Ben couldn't figure out why. Brown hair with a bit of a curl around his ears, dark stubble at his jaw, aviators in place to hide his eyes; the man cut an imposing figure. Ben wasn't exactly short at five foot eleven inches, but he figured the man had at least a couple inches on him. The man walked around the car to the drivers side after slamming the passenger door shut, and Ben quickly made more mental notes, planning what he would tell the police later. Country drawl, blue jeans worn out at the knees, faded red tee shirt with a silhouette of a motorbike and block letters spelling out ‘Drop a gear and disappear’, well-worn black leather jacket with a hint of a tattoo peeking over the collar- black biker boots, Ben noted as the man slid into the driver’s seat- and the biggest identifier that he couldn't believe he had missed until now: a metallic prosthetic hand with the edge of a decorative skull peeking out from the sleeve taking hold of the steering wheel.

“Eyes down.” Jesse McCree barked at him, and Ben snapped his gaze down to his hands resting on trembling knees. He tried to watch out the window with his peripheral, making note of where they were going, but it strained his eyes and he felt sick. Why would a deadly man with one of the world’s largest bounties on his head kidnap a doctor? His face and identifying features were posted everywhere, and despite that there had been more and more sightings of the man lately. He had apparently made an effort to disguise himself today by losing the cowboy outfit and getting a shave and haircut, but Ben’s hobby of devouring every non-fiction crime series had made the attempt ineffective. 

McCree tore down the freeway, ignoring speed limits and weaving through traffic. Ben clutched the door handle, wondering if he'd die before they even made it to the mystery patient.

“Put this on your head.” McCree threw a black sack at Ben, who stared at it uncomprehendingly.

“I ain't filling you in as to where we're going. You wanna go home after this is all done?” McCree asked, to which Ben nodded vigorously. “Then put the damn sack on!”

Ben pulled it over his head, trying to strategically drape it so he could still see a sliver, but McCree reached over with one hand and arranged it properly, effectively blinding him before pushing him over against the door to keep him mostly out of sight from anyone outside the car. 

They drove for at least another 30 minutes, although Ben’s sense of time felt skewed along with his sense of direction. He officially had no idea where he was. He had only lived and worked in the city for about two months, and they were far beyond any area he had had the chance to explore yet.

The car finally stopped. Ben remained still, afraid to move before being instructed to. He heard McCree rummage in the backseat for the duffel before the car rocked as he exited, and his footsteps echoed as he walked around the car to open the passenger door and pull Ben out. Judging by the echo, they were inside a building. Possibly another parkade?

McCree didn't remove the sack from Ben’s head, instead guiding him with a firm hand wrapped around his bicep.

They didn't go far, a few steps before a door opened, then up two flights of steps before going down a hallway and through another door. The sack was pulled off his head and Ben blinked in the light. Once his eyes adjusted, he realized that he was standing before an automated medical bed, the glass canopy closed over a motionless form inside, mostly hidden by the roiling mist that cryostasis often exhibited. The room was painted a harsh white, and stainless steel counters would have glinted in the lights if there hadn't been a fine layer of dust on everything. The place looked like it hadn't been used in years. Was it the first aid room of a long abandoned factory? Military instillation?Ben looked at the man that had brought him here, who held out the tablet that ran the bed, just to pull it back before Ben could take it.

“Can I trust you?” McCree wasn't wearing the aviators anymore and seemed to forget his ‘eyes down’ rule, looking Ben straight in the eye with brown, intense eyes. Ben hoped that he wouldn't be able to guess that he knew his identity.

“‘Do no harm.’” Ben weakly recited. He couldn't believe he was doing this. McCree handed him the tablet. 

Ben flicked through the pages, familiar enough with the device. It was older than the ones he was trained on, but the General Hospital with its limited budget had two automated medical beds not much newer than this one, and he was able to catch on to any differences quickly. All personal information of the patient had been blocked, other than relevant medical information, which was to be expected under the circumstances he supposed. Stab wounds, multiple fractures, concussion, the list continued with injuries consistent with falling from a great height. A note clarifying that the patient was being held in cryostasis, due to hypovolemic shock causing irregular heart rate.

Ben checked the last vitals reading, four hours prior and moments before the cryostasis was activated. He went through the list again, hoping it would end differently this time. This man needed a doctor, surgery, a blood transfusion. 

Ben slowly raised his eyes to McCree, who was leaning against the counter, arms folded and jaw clenched. 

 

***

 

_18 hours earlier_

“All clear.” Hanzo gave Jesse the go ahead over the com. Instead of responding and possibly giving himself away, McCree continued walking and casually slipped through the gate into the warehouse compound like he belonged there. He disappeared around the side, leaving Hanzo to stand watch and wait. 

Hanzo settled more comfortably on his perch on the fire escape of an old apartment building, watching the street below. It was cool in the wee hours of the morning, making him grateful for his new jacket on this mission. The breeze still felt odd on the buzzed sides of his head, and his piercings were cold as well, but he knew he would quickly adjust to it and turned his undivided attention back to the street. Not many people were up and out this time of night in this neighbourhood. Even so, his fingers drummed silently against Storm Bow, his whole body on edge. Something felt off, and the feeling had only been growing as the night progressed.

McCree and Hanzo had been assigned an undercover operation, sent to investigate old Blackwatch safe houses and bases, including a few that weren't on any official books but McCree remembered. Their mission ran silent, and they would have no contact with Overwatch until they reached the rendezvous in three days time.

“Found a way in. Check in every five.” Jesse quietly drawled over the com. Hanzo double tapped his ear com to confirm.

Two check ins passed when Hanzo caught a flicker of movement to his left, on the roof of the similar building next door.

“I've got movement.” Hanzo quietly informed Jesse. “Could be nothing. I'm going to check it out.”

“Be careful.”

Hanzo slung Storm Bow over his shoulder and used window ledges to cross the side of the building, leapt across to the next building, and silently scaled the wall. He cautiously peered over the edge of the building, just to see the roof access door swing shut as someone left, likely finished with their smoke break. He climbed onto the roof and watched for any more movement, but there was nothing. 

“Anything?” Jesse asked over the com, breaking radio protocol. Hanzo looked back at the warehouse and realized that he was likely watching from one of the windows.

“No, I believe-”

“ _Hanzo, look out!_ ” Jesse suddenly shouted. Hanzo whirled, instinctively throwing a hand up to catch the fist flying towards his face. He didn't realize there was a knife in the fist until sharp pain lanced through his hand, and his attacker had too much momentum on him. The attacker’s fist, knife, and Hanzo’s hand only stopped when they hit Hanzo’s neck.

Hanzo violently shoved the attacker away, sending them rolling, and grimaced as the blade pulled out of his neck and hand. He tried to take a breath and choked, the taste of copper bubbling at the back of his throat. 

“He's getting up again!” McCree sounded panicked. “Get out of there, Hanzo! I'm coming!”

Hanzo lurched towards the ledge of the building while readying Storm Bow and arrow, intending to leap back across even as he heard the attacker running behind him. His foot hit the ledge and he launched from the roof, spinning and drawing at the same time. The attacker was much closer than he expected, reaching out and briefly catching his ankle as Hanzo loosed the arrow. Bullseye.

The catch at his ankle had slowed his momentum across the gap between buildings. He would have made it too, Hanzo thought regretfully as wind whistled past his ears and the unforgiving ground came up to meet him and smacked him into darkness. 

 

Running footsteps, a low voice frantically calling his name, hands ghosting over him. Hanzo tried to open his eyes, sucked in a wet breath, choked. Cloth was pressed against his neck, and a warm hand guided his to hold it there.

“Just… just hold on, Han. You're gonna be okay.”

Strong arms slid under him and lifted him off the ground, drawing a pained cry from him. Jesse shushed him, murmuring apologies, something about hanging on. Hanzo pried his eyes open to a slit to barely make out Jesse's face above him, saw Jesse look down at him.

“Just stay with me, darlin’.”

Hanzo tried, but he could feel himself fading. It was hard to breathe, making it impossible to speak. His eyes slid shut, and he could vaguely hear Jesse frantically calling his name, but consciousness slipped away


	2. Chapter 2

_Now_

“I… I'm sorry, but-” Ben stammered, already sensing this conversation was not going to go well as McCree was already shaking his head, abruptly shoving himself away from the counter. 

“His heart went nuts as I was putting him on the table. I froze him within a minute.” McCree's voice was harsh, if not a little strangled. “You gotta bring him back.”

“But… I… I'm not-” Ben suddenly found himself looking down the barrel of a massive revolver that sat disturbingly comfortable in McCree’s hand.

“Bring. Him. Back.” McCree growled.

Ben’s temper flared, sense of self preservation vanishing beneath it. He had just gotten off a double shift after dealing with some of the most ornery patients he had yet to encounter in his career, right before being hauled off into the night by some gun wielding asshole who thought he could work miracles.

“Why didn't you just bring him to the hospital!?” Ben shoved the tablet back at McCree, who looked startled and grabbed it automatically, which meant the gun was no longer in his face. “They have doctors, all the equipment there! I don't have anything here, and the auto bed only has so much!”

McCree grabbed the duffel bag he had brought and threw it at Ben.

“I didn't exactly have a choice!” McCree gestured to the room, making an obvious and surprising effort to calm down. Ben unzipped the bag to find it full of medical supplies. “I grabbed some stuff from the hospital, and there's stuff in the cupboards and drawers. It's old, but it's military grade. They make this shit to last.”

“I can try but… if he needs surgery, I'm no surgeon.” Ben deflated. “We’d have to freeze him again.”

“Not an option.” McCree shook his head. “We’re running out of time as it is.”

“What are you talking about? He's suspended indef-”

“That ain't what I'm talking about. I tripped an alarm coming in here. Talon is likely on the way as we speak and I don't know how much time we have.”

“Bullshit. Talon?” Ben felt his knees go weak, caught himself. “That… that can't be true.”

The grim look on McCree’s face told him that it could indeed be true.

“I suggest you figure out what you need to do and get it done.”

 

Ben went through the duffel bag and the contents of the cupboards and drawers, laying out anything useful. He hoped that the automated medical bed would be able to take care of the neck wound, but the bed was old enough that he would have to apply the electrodes for the defibrillator and install lines for intubation, blood transfusion, and saline himself.

Finally ready, Ben scrubbed his hands at the sink and applied gloves before coming to stand by the auto med bed.

“First thing to do is to reverse the cryostasis.” Ben informed McCree. “You’ll have to do CPR while I start a blood transfusion, and get his heart started again. If that works, I'll use the auto med to repair the damage to his throat. I could take the time to repair his hand, but it's not too bad and if there's a ticking clock I'd rather bandage it and leave it for later.”

“Fine.” McCree came to stand on the other side of the bed, tablet in hand. “Just tell me what to do.”

McCree had some knowledge of CPR already, but Ben went through it again just to be sure before nodding at him to go ahead. “Reverse the cryostasis now.”

McCree hit a series of commands and the mist inside drained away, and after a moment the canopy popped and rolled open, revealing the patient inside. Ben didn't take the time to look him over too closely, barely registering features as he hurried to cut the brown jacket and black tee shirt open. McCree was tall enough to rock up onto his toes and start CPR, counting under his breath, as Ben installed an IV and start a blood transfusion from one of the bags. How the gunslinger had made it that far into the hospital to steal blood bags without being detected, Ben would never know. He applied defibrillator pads to the patient’s chest, and McCree scrambled to hand over the tablet and Ben charged the defibrillator. 

“Clear.” Ben said out of habit, and hit the button. The man’s back arched off the bed for a second before falling limp again. Ben checked vitals, found nothing, charged it again to a higher level.

“Clear.” The man arched again. Still nothing. Ben charged it again.

“Keep trying.” McCree sounded hoarse. The man arched off the bed once more, and finally the tablet began beeping steadily with a heartbeat. McCree sagged against the counter as Ben placed an oxygen mask over the patient’s mouth and nose.

Ben quickly punched in more information to the auto med bed, positioned the man’s head as it instructed, and fed in more information before quickly scanning the plans that the bed had drawn up, making a couple small adjustments before accepting. Blood was trickling from the neck wound again, fresh crimson joining the dark and dried at his throat. The canopy rolled shut again as two robotic arms emerged from the sides and went to work on the man’s throat, delicate tools probing and entering the wound to seal the damage to esophagus and jugular. It only took a matter of minutes, and the bed was old enough that it sealed the exterior wound with some sort of glue before retracting the arms and rolling the canopy open again. 

Ben finally took a look at his patient as he applied gauze bandages to the man’s right hand and neck. Mid to late thirties, Asian, black hair styled in a modern fashion, piercings in his ear and bridge. Ben touched the blue tattoo that extended from wrist to shoulder on the man’s left arm.

“Wow, that's a Shimada tattoo.” Ben blurted out without thinking. “Most copies don't go into such detail, takes too long and expensive as hell. Unless… um…”

McCree was standing rigid, fists clenched, warning look in his eyes. Ben squeezed his eyes shut. Of course he was standing in a room with two of the world’s most deadly men. Shimada Hanzo, known associate of Jesse McCree’s as of late, struck down and brought back to life by none other than Ben Parson, RN. Ben decided he had better enjoy his job as long as he had it, because there was no way he'd be keeping it after the UN found out about this. 

“You know what, forget I said anything.” Ben finished weakly, wishing he had never read that true crime book about the yakuza of Hanamura.

“Is he going to be alright?” McCree looked at Hanzo, apparently choosing to not address Ben’s near muck up. “Can we move him?”

“I think he'll be fine. It would be better to transport him in a fully stocked emergency vehicle.” Ben caught the look that McCree gave him. “I take it that isn't an option. I just want it to be known I don't recommend this.”

“Duly noted.” McCree said dryly. “Now tick tock, doc, we’re running out of time.”

Ben removed the pads from Shimada’s chest and carefully taped the IV down. He waved an impatient McCree off while he monitored him for a few minutes, making sure the unconscious man was still breathing with a steady enough heart rate, then rummaged through the cabinets until he found a smaller and transportable oxygen bottle. He packed it and a few other supplies into the duffel bag, and turned to see McCree about to lift Shimada in his arms.

“Wait! What do you think you're doing?!” Ben yelped, and McCree stopped to look at him, Hanzo’s head lolling against his shoulder. “We just got him back! He's got fractures! A concussion!”

“Just tell me what I gotta be careful with.” McCree was impatient. “We don't have time to find a stretcher!”

“Ribs, collar bone, humerus, skull fracture.” Ben listed off, watching McCree’s face grow paler with each item. “All of those on his right side, so I'm assuming that's how he landed when he fell from wherever it was he fell from. Nothing is broken through and through, but we have to be careful to keep it that way!”

“Okay, but we have to go now!” McCree adjusted his hold slightly on Hanzo, looking down at him in worry. “What's a humerus?”

“Upper arm.” Ben pointed out the bruising on Shimada’s right upper arm as he tucked the limb in more securely for being carried. He grabbed one of the blankets he had found in a cupboard and tucked it around the shirtless man. “Just… be careful.”

To his credit, McCree was extremely careful, lifting and cradling him gently, making sure he didn't smack door frames on the way out. Ben carried the duffel bag, opening doors as McCree pointed out the right ones and opened the passenger door of McCree’s car once they reached it. He pushed the reclining seat down and helped McCree slide the injured Shimada in. Once he was in, Ben climbed into the back seat in the middle to keep an eye on his patient. McCree eyed him in the rear view mirror but didn't say anything as he pulled the car out of the hangar they had been parked in and out onto the street.

They were barely three blocks away when McCree cursed, shoved his aviators back onto his face and slouched in his seat. A big military jeep went tearing by, heading in the direction that they had come from.

“What? What?!” Ben was alarmed by McCree’s reaction.

“Talon.” McCree said tersely, checking his mirrors repeatedly. “We barely got out of there. Gotta make sure we aren't tailed.”

“Oh good, only Talon.” Ben’s sense of self preservation had apparently taken another hike, leaving him with sarcasm and thoughtless comments as usual. McCree just snorted, but made no comment. Ben busied himself by replacing the empty blood bag with saline, placed the oxygen mask over Hanzo’s mouth and nose again and started the oxygen, then checked his pulse.

“He's got a pretty wicked concussion, so we gotta keep him still when he wakes up.” Ben informed McCree as he tied the saline bag to the handle above the passenger door. “Maybe cover his eyes so the light doesn't get him either. I'll give him something so he isn't sick.”

McCree just grunted in confirmation. The car was quiet for a few minutes. Ben still had no idea where they were, but noticed that McCree was driving at legal limits now that they were back on the freeway. Better to not draw attention.

“We’re with Overwatch.” McCree suddenly said, apparently feeling the need to offer some sort of explanation.

“What, the heroes?” Ben blurted before thinking. “I thought they were disbanded.”

“Yeah, the heroes.” McCree glanced over at Shimada. “Some more heroic than others. Some of us have some making up to do. There was a recall, so the gang's all back together with some new kids. We were just in town doing some recon, and some shit went down. Government types ain't exactly impressed with Overwatch at the moment, especially when it comes to us lowlifes. We both have bounties on our heads, some deserved, some not so much, but they're there and I couldn't risk us getting ID’d. That's why I nabbed you.”

Ben was quiet for a moment, thinking. He had a million questions to ask, but realized the less he knew the more likely he was to get out of this alive. Still, he began mentally picking apart news reports he had seen, comparing it to what he was seeing with his own eyes now. He had some research to do once he got home. If he got home. 

“You gonna tell anyone?” McCree finally asked.

“No.” Ben shrugged when McCree looked at him in the mirror. “If I did I'd probably lose my job, and that's if they believe me. As much as today sucked, I don't want that to happen.”

McCree hummed thoughtfully as he kept driving. Ben found himself nodding off, despite his situation. He was exhausted, having been awake for more than a day at this point. 

The car pulled over to the curb.

“This is your stop, kid.” McCree announced, startling Ben out of a doze.

“What?” Ben blinked blearily, looking around. The car dash read just past two am, he noticed. “You're letting me go? What about him? He's still in rough shape.”

“As it is, Talon has no idea you're involved with Overwatch agents.” McCree explained. “Better to keep it that way. I let you off here, you go home and back to life as usual.”

Ben decided not to argue further. He checked Shimada’s vitals again, then grabbed a pen and old receipt from the console of the car to start scribbling down instructions.

“Here. I've written down everything I can think of that you'll have to deal with. Follow the instructions about the meds, you don't want to overdose.” Ben shoved the paper at McCree. “My name and numbers at the bottom if anything comes up. Won't have my phone until I get back to work, so that's my roommate’s.”

“Thanks, kid.” McCree checked the paper. “Ben. Sorry for wrecking your night. Now scram.”

“Yessir.” Ben patted his pocket for his wallet and scrambled out of the car. 

“Oh, and here.” McCree handed a credit chit through the window. “I had to keep some for gas money but I think there should be enough on there.”

Ben stared at the credit chip, but before he could say anything the car was peeling off. Ben clicked the edge of the chit and read a number on the indicator that would easily pay off his medical school debt, and then some. He looked up, jaw agape, just in time to see the car turn a corner.

“Thanks.” Ben whispered, then carefully tucked the precious chit into his wallet and zipped it into his inside jacket pocket before he looked around. “Now where the hell am I?”

 

***


End file.
